The Lovely Miss Misa Amane
by nothingness494
Summary: This is the story of a different Misa. Not the bubbly "Misa Misa loves Light-kun", but the girl before then, and leading up to that. Rated M for the nature of her "career". I won't tell you what it is she does. Will continue if people want me too if not..


Tears run down her contorted face. Foreign tears. Foreboding tears. And unwanted tears.

They smear her perfect eyeliner. Perfect eye-shadow. Perfect blush. And perfect lie.

She sat huddled up in the corner of her dilapidated dressing room. There was a crack in the mirror, as there was a crack in her image also. A threadbare pink boa encircled a rickety stool. The ceiling was aged with the liver-spots of water damage. And a cheap plastic rack held her clothes. Her shoes however were strewn across the 70's shag rug. All three of her pairs of translucent platform stilettos.

"Bitch, get your ass up!" a man commanded with a swift slap. Leaving red imprints of his bejeweled hand.

"Yes sir," she sobbed, pulling herself off the floor and wiping her tears away.

"You're on in five!"

She silently reapplied the many layers of make-up. The air-brush quality foundation. The thick onyx eyeliner. The loud pink eye-shadow. And of course the ruby red lipstick.

She slipped into her outfit and adjusted herself onto the stool. She twisted her face into the beautiful seductress everyone knew. She picked up the boa and walked out the door.

-------------------

Loud throbbing music music was pumped into the dark space. Men laughed and drank while snapping singles into gleaming thongs. Their hungry eyes feasted upon the young courtesans. A little flirting ran around, but there was also the booze induced gropings. But then there was the stage, and the torture objects known as the poles.

"And now the vixen all of you kind gentlemen have been waiting for!" the dj announced.

With a sudden whoosh, the shimmering curtain was separated. And a goddess entered the stage. She was clad in a skimpy hot pink paten leather miniskirt. With a hint of black thong showing its strings above her waist. A too-tight tube top (matching the skirt) smothering her chest, causing her to take silent but hasty breaths. The boa, thank God, covered most of this, so she wasn't so ashamed. Her black fishnets dug into her freshly waxed legs. Naturally her petite feet were mashed into the stilettos. And as she proceeded, her gorgeous bond hair wisped into little waves in her wake.

"The lovely Miss Misa Amane!" the dj exclaimed, as the men went wild, thrusting ones towards the catwalk.

She instinctively bent over and slowly reached to her toes. Her tush exposed to the audience. A few more slim-balls walked up the the platform. And she rose and winked at the crowd.

"Oh my GOD!" one man screamed. His hands were hidden. Sadly this was not uncommon for her appearances.

"Dude, its not even getting good yet!" another sneered.

"Come on babe, show us the goods!" and similar sayings were thrown into the air.

As she was taught, she first steadily removed the boa. Tracing her slim and trim body. As she did so, she had a seductive look glazed upon her face, as if she actually enjoyed this. She even outlined her vermillion lips with a poised tongue. Next was the mini skirt. She carefully removed that too. And of course, the men went ballistic, though she may have spotted a lone female enjoying herself along with them. To add to the atmosphere, she got on her knees and crawled towards the edge with mock hunger in her eyes. A few men forced money into the lacy g-string, just to touch the beauty.

"Show me those perfect tits," a old businessman lusted, shoving a hundred into her top, squeezing her womanhood.

Of course she had to, it was the rules as an object of desire. So she removed the bill, kissed it and snapped it in her thong herself. Her big eyes glistened with what looked like lust to the men, but it was something sadder. She unzipped the top, and headed to a freshly oiled pole. She bounced around and up the steel devil. With a final flourish, she somewhat backflipped off the rail. She gathered her discarded clothes with a wiggle of her butt. And left the stage. The crowd rioted in glee.

While offstage, she rounded up the various currency she had collected. She grabbed a robe, and fell to the ground in sobs.

"It's alright sweetie, it's all over now," another woman in a robe assured her. While-as she stroked the trembling head of her crying comrade.

"Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay honey,"

A man in a rich fur coat walked in. From behind his expensive sunglasses he yelled, "Not again bitches! We need you on the floor, laps don't dance themselves!" And he left the two women huddled together, sharing salty tears, dreading their incipient torture.


End file.
